Krogan Diplomacy
by Mr. Teatime
Summary: A trio of mercenaries are tasked by a diplomat to recover her kidnapped sister. 3 OCs, based off ME3 multiplayer characters.


It was a good day.

Then again, every day was a good day when you were Nassana Dantius.

The Asari diplomat looked out through one of the walls of her office, composed entirely of see-through glass. A pleasant amount of artificially-generated light shone through to bathe her face. Not so bright so as to cause her to squint, but not so dim that she couldn't adequately survey the grounds of the Presidium. Crowds of people from every system, species, background, colour and creed that one could imagine bustled to and fro on important business - or at least business that they thought was important.

Nassana idly buttoned up her crimson red formal gown, head tilted downwards, a smirk plastered across her face. She couldn't help it. Life was good.

"...Your stock-brokers on Illium also reported a 14% growth in the past 24 hours, so there's been no market fallback from these Geth attacks," her assistant, a young and fresh-faced Asari droned on. Nassana absorbed all the necessary information without dedicating herself entirely to listening, a skill she had developed centuries ago. Still, these young Asari were so eager to please, it almost made her want to pretend any of this was particularly crucial. "Oh, and the Elcor ambassador has requested an office closer in size to yours, but he prefaced it with 'Feeble Power-Play' so I think we can brush it off for now," she continued.

"Wonderful," Nassana said, looking down at herself, her hands moving across her body to remove any unwanted strands of hair or specs of dust. When she noticed the girl had finally stopped reciting her stream of updates, she turned to look at her. "Is that all, dear?"

"Well, uhm...one more thing," her assistant added, suddenly looking apprehensive. "Your 1400 hour appointment is here early. He's waiting out in the lounge."

Now there was some news she could really sink her teeth into. "Excellent. Let him know I'll see to him post haste." She gave a polite nod of her head, indicating for her assistant to show herself out. She made her way back to her desk, sat down, and began to check her terminal for any extranet messages. She generally had a near-constant stream of messages coming in, as everyone in the vast pyramid beneath her tended to think that their problems were important enough to warrant her explicit attention. They rarely were, and she knew this; she was only delaying her trip to the lounge so as not to seem to desperate to start her meeting.

As with most of her business, she had not handled the arrangement of this meeting herself. In fact, she did not know who it was she was about to talk to. They could be an Asari, a Turian, or even a Human. All she knew was that this individual was apparently quite adept at getting things done, and doing so in a particularly discreet manner. Nassana rarely liked to admit needing help, but this individual sounded like exactly what she needed.

After enough time had passed to make her fashionably late, she stood up, straightened her outfit, and made her way towards the door, which slid open for her, and slid shut once more behind her. It was a short walk past her assistant's desk, down a flight of stairs, and around a corner, to the embassy lounge.

There was something amazing about the lounge. So many galactic deals were made here every day. Hopes of entire civilizations were brought to fruition, or crushed beneath the heel of the political elite. All the while, those movers and shakers such as herself kept a polite smile and enjoyed the perpetually pleasant weather.

Her eyes scanned the crowd of tables, where people, usually in pairs of two, sat embroiled in deep discussion. It took her a while of searching, but she finally picked out a man sitting alone, with his hands politely folded together on the table in front of him.

She blinked a few times. No, that couldn't be right.

For the briefest of moments, she felt her veil of self-assurance flicker, but she quickly recovered, put on a charming smile, and made her way over to the Krogan waiting for her.

"Hello, sir," Nassana said, taking a chair across from him.

"You must be Nassana Dantius," the Krogan said. He spoke slowly and concisely, enunciating his words carefully. Nassana watched him for a moment, noticing something odd about him - there appeared to be the Krogan equivalent of eyeglasses stretched across his wide, scaly face.

"Indeed," she responded. "And you would be..?"

"Booke," the Krogan responded.

Nassana waited for a moment, but the Krogan did not say anything else. She quirked an eyebrow. "Just Booke? You do not have a clan name?"

"My clan name is irrelevant," Booke said, his tone still careful and even. "My given name is irrelevant too, but I figured I would be polite. I am the individual who is going to solve your problem for you."

Nassana kept a pleasant smile on her face, but inwardly she frowned - no clan name? Even the most brutal Krogan mercenaries had a fierce pride and devotion to their clan. That was certainly interesting.

"Very well, I'll get right to business then," Nassana said, her smile now fading to be replaced by a perfectly calculated look of heartfelt sorrow. "My sister, Daliah, has been kidnapped by pirates." She sighed. "We have grown apart, but as children we were quite close. I would do anything to see her returned safely."

"Indulge my curiosity: why hire me? Surely you have pull with the Asari Commandos, perhaps even with the Council itself. A strike team could be sent in, wipe them out, and return your sister to you, without any need for payment," Booke said.

"You're right, of course," Nassana conceded. "But I panicked. I didn't want them to hurt my sister, so I complied with the ransom they sent me, in direct violation of Citadel policy. They took my money, and kept my sister. Now I can't involve the Council without undergoing a hearing that could potentially cost me my job."

"Ah," Booke said. "This job is not just for recovery, but for silence."

"Correct," Nassana said, somewhat amazed by the calm and thoughtful demeanor of this Krogan. "It can never come to light that I tried to bargain with them."

"All the pirates will be silenced," Booke said with a nod, "and your sister returned, for the agreed upon amount."

"Excellent," Nassana replied. "You know how to contact me when you're done."

"Discreetly," Booke said.

Much like the gardens of the Presidium, the Lower Wards of the Citadel were crowded with people bustling about. The people, however, were of an entirely different sort; formal gowns were swapped for oil-stained and torn-up clothes. People did not move about in a self-obsessed bubble, unconscious of their surroundings; here their eyes darted around, keeping a paranoid look-out for thieves - or, if they were thieves, for C-Sec guards.

Booke, being a Krogan, was one of the few Citadel residents who could walk around even the shadiest areas of the bustling metropolis with few worries. No one, cop or robber, wanted to test their luck antagonizing any member of a species known for their multiple hearts, and penchant for ripping out the hearts of others.

As such, the sea of people subconsciously parted before Booke as he made his way to the docks, where a variety of civilian vessels, large and smell, were idly connected to the arms of the station. He passed by several rather impressive boats without a second glance, and made his way determinedly towards the aero-nautical equivalent of a rusty nail.

The docking bay was wide open, with an armchair folded out in front of it. A human male sat in it, legs folded, reading a newspaper. A cigar dangled from his mouth, the tip getting ready to disintegrate into pure ash. Despite his hair being tinted gray, the man didn't look to be older than 40.

"Howdy, Captain," he said, lowering the newspaper to grin up at Booke as the Krogan approached. "How'd things go up on the Presidium? Did you get a taste of rich living? Are we going to lose you as you go off to become a politician?"

"It was very...bright," Booke said, after taking a moment to think. "Not for me. Besides, if I were to utilize my intellect in a more legitimate field, where would that leave you, Yuli?"

Yuli grinned, and said, "why, I'd probably just blow my brains out from sheer misery and loss."

Yuli Valeri was the pilot of Booke's vessel. Though Booke had paid for it, and for all the frequent repairs that needed to be made, Yuli cared for it like a child in a way Booke could never quite muster the energy for. He had even let the Human name it - thus, he was Captain of the _Cuban, _which was apparently a tiny Earth island that made those smoke-sticks Yuli was constantly sticking in his mouth.

"Any sign of Ravid? I want to leave soon," Booke intoned, standing beside Yuli's chair.

"Oh, you know her," Yuli said. "Probably out making friendly with the locals."

As if on cue, there was a soft 'vwoomf' from nearby, a sound that the two had recently learned to associate with a biotic explosion. People crowding around on the docks were thrown rather spectacularly through the air to make way for an Asari, who flew through the new opening towards the _Cuban. _Booke gave her a nod, which she did not return. He had always felt her manners were a bit lacking.

"We should leave," she said, panting slightly.

"Now? I didn't even get to the Funnies yet," Yuli protested, waving his newspaper at her.

"Quickly, yes," she said, rushing past them into the interior of the ship.

"Damnit, girl," Booke snapped, following her into the ship as Yuli grumbled and began to drag his armchair inside. "There's nothing wrong with starting a good bar fight, but you have to stop liquefying people with biotics. It's unbecoming."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, DAD," she grumbled. "Hey, did you get the job?"

Booke was not Avid's father, but he felt like it sometimes. She was a younger Asari, in the later stages of what was described as the Maiden segment of an Asari's life. Biologically inclined to mate with exotic members of other species, many Asari in the early stages of their adulthood wandered the galaxy restlessly, looking for excitement and adventure and frequent meld partners. Many such Asari found themselves drawn to mercenary work, before eventually choosing to settle down for a more calm existence - if they survived that long.

"Yes, I got the job," Booke replied. "Not sure how much I like it. Meeting went a little too perfectly."

"Golly, well, when you put it that way, we might as well give up right now," Yuli said, plunking himself down in front of the flight console.

Booke considered his words for a moment, and conceded that it did sound awfully silly. He added, "it went exactly as I could've expected while playing it out in my head, verbatim. Which means she was playing it out in her head, as well, rather than being swept up in the emotion of a sibling in danger."

"This is why I don't play cards with him," Yuli whispered to Ravid, who chuckled.

"We're still doing it, though, right? I mean, the bitch is paying us, so who cares if this is some political power play?" Ravid asked.

"You may have been shot at, shanked, beaten up and done the same to others, but you haven't seen true dirty fighting until you've danced with a politician," Booke replied. "We do this job neat, we do it quick, and we do it smart."

"Right. Neat, quick, and whatever that third thing you said was," Yuli responded, prepping the _Cuban _to disengage from the docks. "Where to, Captain?"

"Artemis Tau cluster. Macedon system. Planet by the name of Sharjila, the closest one to the star," Booke answered. "I'll be in my room if anyone needs me."

The ship had clearly not been designed with Krogan in mind, and even though he was on the smaller side for his species, Booke still had to duck down to get through any doorway on the ship. He made his way through an ill-lit hallway, his clawed feet clacking on the metallic floor to produce an eerie echo. A gout of steam was escaping from a crack in one of the pipes running along-side the hallway, which was most likely meant to be a maintenance shaft not meant for residential use. Booke reached for his omni-tool, and applied a light layer of gel to the fracture. This caused another section of the pipe to crack, and the steam to begin pouring out from there. He sighed, and gave up.

Due to the excessive darkness, he couldn't quite tell when to duck into his bunk, and smacked his head into the low-hanging archway. He rubbed the crest on his forehead while grumbling to himself, and collapsed into bed.

So many people in suits and ties, all smiling at each other politely while planning to tear them down in their ferocious climb to the top. It was mind-boggling. Krogan were no strangers to political power-plays, but there was a certain honesty about it; you didn't like your Clan warlord, you shot them in the face and took their job. You didn't pretend to like them.

He rolled over, getting comfortable, and felt himself drifting off to sleep to the oddly soothing racket of the dingy ship hitting the Mass Relay, getting flung at faster than light speed towards their distant destination.

In the hazy euphoria between sleep and consciousness, he couldn't help but feel it would be fascinating to experience the ship getting torn apart in transit, leaving him drifting helplessly through the vacuum of space...

Suddenly he was jarred away by the sound of rhythmic thumping from above him, as Yuli and Ravid slammed into the walls and floor as part of their regular throes of passion. He could hear Ravid moaning, "yes, ohh yes, embrace eternity," and dragged his pillow over his face in an attempt to block it out.

He lay there for a long time until the noise stopped. He knew they were idly drifting as Yuli lay naked on the cockpit floor, panting happily. He gave it another twenty minutes or so, just to be safe, then made his way back upstairs.

"Morning, Captain," Yuli said, fixing him a grin. A fresh cigar hung from the corner of his mouth. Booke wondered if he even stopped smoking during intercourse.

"Yeah," Booke said. He hadn't slept much, but he supposed there was no point worrying about it now. "Go get some rest before we land, I'll watch things up here for a bit."

"Sure thing, boss," the pilot responded, as he stood up, stretched, and made his way to his bunk. Booke slumped down into the vacant seat, and stared off into the endless expanse of stars before him.


End file.
